


As I Lay

by kehinki



Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Bed Humping, Frottage, M/M, Masturbation, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-08
Updated: 2013-06-08
Packaged: 2017-12-14 08:59:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/835086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kehinki/pseuds/kehinki
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the following Avengerkink prompt:</p><p>
  <i>I'd like Steve waking from a sexy dream with an erection and rolling over onto his stomach to hump against the bed while thinking about Thor.</i>
</p><p>So, this is exactly that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I Lay

**Author's Note:**

> Full prompt and original post is [here](http://avengerkink.livejournal.com/16019.html?thread=35886739#t35886739). There is absolutely no semblance of plot. Enjoy!

Steve wakes with an ache in his back, a dry mouth, and sunlight burning orange-red from behind his closed eyelids. He also wakes from one of the most pleasant dreams he’s had in ages.   
  
The pleasantness of which is testified by his rock hard dick.   
  
He smiles lazily from to himself, stretching his arms above his head and arching his back up off the sheets. He’s feeling content and lethargic and wants to spend a few moments dwelling on the dream, on rough hands spreading his thighs apart, on hot puffs of breath against the shell of his ear, on the feeling of a rough beard scratching against his throat.   
  
It wasn’t too long ago that dreams like these would leave him shame-faced and embarrassed, unable to look Thor in the eye for days afterward. He knows that it’s a new age, with new values, and that he has nothing to feel dirty or disgusted about, but the way Thor cants his head at him, brows furrowed, and the way he says, “Are you alright, Steve?” when Steve can’t even string together a proper ‘Good morning’ to him had always left him feeling guilty, like he was somehow abusing Thor’s friendship and trust by thinking of Thor’s palms, voice, hair,  _cock_  as he bit his lip and palmed himself at night. He can’t help it; Thor’s so big and calm and soothing—he wants to tangle his fingers in his hair, lick at his lips, and—and choke on his  _cock_. Steve’s  _seen_  Thor’s cock in the showers after sparring and it was a miracle Steve had been able to tear his eyes away.  
  
But all of that guilt and embarrassment slips out of his mind each time he’s in bed with the hot swell of his own cock pressing against the inside of his briefs. It’s difficult to feel bad when this feels  _so fucking good_.   
  
His hips twitch up off the bed in tiny, shallow thrusts; he keeps his eyes closed and squirms, tangling his hands above him in the sheets. He wonders if he could come from just this, from fucking into air, from feeling his dick being pressed hotly between his stomach and his tight briefs. He aborts the idea pretty fast—he thinks that all that would do is drive him insane—it would take  _forever_  and he’d probably break, taking himself in hand and fucking gracelessly into his sweaty fist—  
  
He groans and rolls onto his stomach, feeling his stomach clench at the pressure. He wants to dig his fingers and toes into the bedding, thrust  _deeply_  and then just rub himself off to completion, but the images from his early morning dream are still rendered behind his eyelids in vivid detail and he wants this to  _last_ , wants to be able to play out every little fantasy he’d dreamed about.   
  
His hips stutter as he thrusts against the mattress once—quick and abortive—imagining Thor behind and above him, one calloused hand slipping up his A-shirt, heavy and solid against the arched dip of Steve’s back.   
  
A helpless little  _ah_  noise escapes Steve’s lips as he fists the bed sheets tighter.   
  
He thrusts again, trying to get  _deeper_ , and his face is hot and getting hotter—his whole  _body_  is hot, tingling and hypersensitive. He considers tossing off the sheets, feeling cool air hit his dampening skin, but discards the idea fast. This way, he can imagine the heat against his back is  _Thor_.   
  
Thor, who would leave open-mouthed kisses against the back of Steve’s neck and move his hand so that his palm rested firmly against the flat of Steve’s stomach. He’d  _hold_  Steve.   
  
“You are magnificent,” he imagines Thor saying, his lips—wet and soft—moving against the shell of Steve’s ear. Steve, madly, wants to argue with his own fantasy because out of the two of them, the only one worthy of the word magnificent is  _Thor_.   
  
Thor’s hands ignore Steve’s cock entirely as they move to rest against the back of Steve’s thighs; Steve whimpers and squeezes his eyes shut tight, bucking against the bed once, twice, and he’s suddenly so glad the bed doesn’t creak, so glad he has a room to himself, not like when he was young and could never indulge in this sort of thing because of the shame, the lack of privacy, the fear—

Steve muffles his groans with his pillow and spreads his legs wide for Thor to move between them. Thor doesn’t tease, doesn’t play and immediately slips his hands under his pajamas, under his briefs and Steve begins panting as he imagines Thor prying his ass cheeks apart so that he can rest his own (huge,  _beautiful_ ) cock between them.   
  
“ _Fuck_ ,” he gasps, mouth dropping open, hips moving faster. He pushes himself down and up and lies flat against the bed for a moment, just  _rubbing_. He needs this so bad it  _hurts_.   
  
“Wonderful,” Thor rumbles. “You’re so sweet, Captain. So lovely—so _wet_ for me.”  
  
Steve gasps and it takes colossal will to keep his hands still and above his head, to not make a grab for his cock. He’s right, he’s totally right—he  _is_  wet, completely soaked. He feels precome soak through the front of both his briefs and pajamas and wonders half-hysterically if there’ll be a wet spot on his bed. The sodden cloth clings to his sweaty skin and the slick feel of his own come against his abs and the feel of beading wetness dripping down his cock feels so, so  _good_. He likes to think Thor would be delighted, would say something like—  
  
“We don’t need  _anything_ —I could prepare you with just this, if you wished—”  
  
 _Yes_ , something like that, exactly that, he’d lube Steve up with Steve’s own come and it’d be so  _dirty_  that Steve’s face would heat up horribly and then Thor would just—  
  
Thor would thrust into him in one, easy move, groaning at the feel, words failing him because Steve would feel too good, he’d be so good for him. His breath hitches and his hips move faster. Thor would thrust into him with abandon, not needing to be gentle because Steve can take it, can take anything that’s dished out to him, and Thor would thrust so hard and so deep that Steve would be shoved forward towards the bedframe, his own cock rubbed raw against the sheets.   
  
The stretch would be amazing. He’d feel so full, like he couldn’t take it, like there’s  _no way_ , but Thor would grunt something like, “Take it, take it all, you look so beautiful” and Steve would have no choice but to take in every inch and  _love_  it. With each thrust, he'd press the length of his body down harshly against Steve's, and his hands would wander, up from his thighs, from the dip of his navel, and to his chest and rest there, thumbs brushing against Steve's nipples, fingers digging into the hard flesh of Steve's pecs.   
  
Distantly, he hears the squelch of his cock pressing against his wet clothes every time he thrusts and he groans appreciatively because something like that definitely shouldn’t sound so hot.  
  
His mouth is hanging open but he can’t get his voice to work so he imagines instead, imagines himself begging—and it’s such a shock how badly he wants to beg, to whisper please, please, please, as Thor continues to fuck into him. He’d feel Thor’s warm chest against his back, the front of Thor's thighs digging into the back of his, Thor’s teeth scraping against the curve of his shoulder blade.  
  
His grip on the sheets is white-knuckled and he’s feeling so overheated and sensitive that he kind of wants to cry but he can’t stop, not when he’s so close. He thinks of Thor’s fingers brushing against his lips, moving into his open mouth—he feels so  _empty_ —and he sucks, sucks on thin air because he’s so desperate for it—  
  
His thrusts lose the little rhythm they had and become erratic. Steve’s not thinking of anything right now—he can’t—just focuses on the feeling of laying himself bare and open under Thor’s gorgeous, solid form. The only sounds are the squelching, his heavy panting and his heartbeat pounding frantically in his ears.   
  
When he comes, he chokes on a sob, his vision whiting for a split-second and his eyes rolling to the back of his head, his knees digging into the mattress. He doesn’t stop thrusting, although his thrusts become shallow, inelegant.   
  
He sighs when his cock stops twitching and loosens his death grip on the sheets. He’s content to lay there under the early sunlight, under the sweat-damp sheets until he’s finally able to regain control of his limbs.   
  
(Which doesn’t happen as quickly has he’d have liked).


End file.
